Cats on the Prowl
by Hot elf
Summary: When Cat Cousland meets a certain assassin, she quickly realizes that there's more to life than just picking locks and fighting darkspawn. F!Cousland/Zevran.
1. Fireside Chats

**Cats on the Prowl**

_*Author's note: This started off rather light and fluffy and is getting naughtier and smuttier with each subsequent instalment. Personally, I blame Zevran's bad influence...*_

**Chapter 1: Fireside Chats**

"Why so preoccupied, sweet Catalina?" Zevran's deep rich voice tore her out of her musings.

Cat hadn't noticed him come over to her tent, but then she knew he was a master at stealth. Usually she hated her full name. She could still hear her mother's strident tones in the back of her head, scolding her for some real or imagined offense. _Catherine Elizabeth Cousland!_ She'd insisted the others call her just Cat. The nickname suited her, went well with her green eyes and her graceful gait. But the way Zev pronounced her name in his strong Antivan accent rather pleased her.

She had been thinking about him, as a matter of fact. It had been several weeks now since he'd joined their group, and he'd proven himself loyal and useful far beyond her expectations. His unwavering good cheer and uncomplicated companionship had slowly endeared him to all but the ever-wary Morrigan.

Lately he had begun teaching her how to use a second weapon. He'd approved of her swordsmanship, her quick, lethal strikes. When he suggested she use a dagger in her left hand, she had immediately realized that this would make her a far greater danger in battle. She enjoyed the practice sessions too, his soft chuckles when she proved too clumsy for a complicated manoeuvre, his gentle hands correcting her grip on the hilt of the dagger.

He was ever considerate of her, saving her a particularly tasty morsel of food, cleaning her weapons for her at night when she was too tired, even offering her a brief massage when she was feeling the strain of their battles. She shivered briefly, recalling the feel of his warm hands on her shoulders.

"I wonder, are you trying to seduce me?" His head jerked up, then he laughed softly. Oh Maker, had she just said this aloud?

"And what would make you think that, cara mia?" he asked, his amusement plainly visible in the soft creases around his golden eyes.

She shrugged, embarrassed. "Just the way you've been looking at me lately, all those small favours and kindnesses, I don't know..." her voice trailed off.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "But that was no more than the attentiveness due to any woman as beautiful as you, don't you think?"

She snorted, put off by this obvious bit of flattery. "I'm hardly beautiful!" she snarled.

He seemed genuinely taken aback by her answer. "And is that what they told you, those noble whelps you grew up with?" he growled. He'd noticed for some time that the local aristocracy seemed to have a rather limited idea of what constituted female beauty. She certainly didn't match the picture of the blushing pink "Fereldan rose", with her red hair, pale skin and the small dusting of freckles on her face. But how could they be blind to those eyes, those full lips, the graceful, lithe body? Zevran sighed. Alistair, too was completely oblivious to her charms, treating her like a younger sister, while every blonde buxom serving wench would cause him to blush and tremble.

He shook his head and gently took her hand. "Trust me, my sweet, I have enjoyed the... company of some of the most beautiful women in Thedas, and you have no reason whatsoever to worry about your looks." She blushed briefly, clearly not convinced. "Anyway, as for your allegation..." he added, his eyes firmly locked on her, casually stroking her palm with his thumb before raising her hand to his face and breathing a feather-light kiss on her wrist. She gasped, her eyes widening and he softly cupped her face with his other hand, a hint of triumph in his smile. "Would you like me to... seduce you?"

Cat swallowed, for once unsure of what to say. The touch of his lips had been so soft as to go almost unnoticed and yet, she had felt a spark travel from her hand straight down to her crotch. Her heart almost missed a beat as his thumb ghosted over her trembling lip, and she had to suppress a violent urge to catch his finger with her lips, to kiss it, to suck hard on it.

Zevran watched the way her eyes suddenly darkened with desire, the expressions warring on her face, and he laughed softly. "Aaaaah, but you are still so very young, and so innocent," he muttered, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. "Perhaps it's better if you take your time thinking about your answer, no?" And with those words he rose and slowly walked over to his tent, leaving her shivering despite the warmth of the fire.

"Has he been bothering you?" Alistair sat down next to her, his arm wrapped around her shoulder, sounding belligerent and ready to defend her.

She had to suppress a smile. He reminded her so much of Fergus, her big brother. Fergus had been just like him, teasing her for much of the time, but fiercely protective of his kid sister. They even had the same open guileless expression, the same goofy sense of humour. "No, I'm fine," she replied, following Zevran with her eyes, admiring his easy grace, as he ducked into his tent. "I just have a lot to think about."


	2. The Pearl

**Chapter 2: The Pearl**

The mercenaries hadn't presented any real challenge to them. A combination of Morrigan's freezing spell, Alistair's swordplay and her and Zevran's dancing blades had quickly made them see reason.

Sanga, the proprietor of the establishment, was only too grateful to be rid of them. "What can I offer you in return?" she asked. "Are you interested in men? Women? A combination of both?"

Cat declined politely, though she felt momentarily intrigued by the proposal. "Not at the moment, thank you. There is, however, a favour that I'd like to ask of you. I've noticed you have some rather well-appointed bathrooms back there and our inn is none too clean..."

"Of course!" Sanga exclaimed. "I'll have the maids draw both tubs for you and your companions, one for the gentlemen and one for the ladies. Unless you'd all prefer to share..."

Cat quickly shook her head, suppressing a giggle when she saw Alistair blush violently and noticed Morrigan's icy stare. Leliana uttered a small shriek, pretending to be shocked, but fooling no one. Sten obviously didn't care, one way or the other. And Zevran... well, he would have been only too happy with such an arrangement, she thought wryly, but he'd just have to deal.

Once Sanga told them the tub was ready and waiting, the three men wandered over to their bathroom. Sten threw a contemptuous glance at the perfumed hot bath and walked straight over to the buckets of ice-cold water waiting to be heated for the next customer. He quickly stripped down, washed with a few economic movements, dried his massive frame with a huge towel and was out of the door again before the others had even completely undressed.

Alistair was sinking into the water with a sigh of pleasure, though, and Zevran joined him eagerly enough. A hot civilized bath like this was a rare luxury in Ferelden, and he enjoyed it thoroughly.

With a happy sigh, he leaned back and let his mind wander to the beautiful warden, the way she had looked at him a few days ago at the campfire. What an innocent she was! Still, there had been passion in her eyes, and it was easy to imagine her in his arms, flushed with pleasure, her breath coming in quick little gasps...

He was torn out of his reverie by Alistair cleaning his throat ostentatiously. "You might want to... cool down a little," the tall knight growled, with a pointed glance at Zevran's groin, his ears tinged pink with embarrassment.

"Aaaah, but that is the point of a hot bath, is it not, my friend," Zevran replied mischievously. "And besides, don't tell me that you aren't busy imagining what's going on next door, with our three beautiful ladies all together in a tub..."

Alistair's eyes widened in shock at the suggestion and he started to say something, but Zevran continued unabashedly. "Just think, beautiful Morrigan with her pale skin and her perky little breasts, her soft white skin flushed by the heat, Leliana stretching voluptuously in the hot water, moaning with pleasure, and of course our pretty Catalina, all wet and relaxed..."

"Really, Zevran, you go too far," Alistair sputtered, now genuinely angered, even though it was obvious that the picture painted by the assassin's deep sultry voice hadn't failed to excite him. With a furious groan, he got out of the tub and walked over to the buckets, letting the cold water quench his impure thoughts. As he dressed and stomped out of the room, Zevran grinned impishly, settling back into the fragrant water. It was really far too easy to provoke Alistair, he thought lazily.

When the pretty little bathroom attendant came in to ask him, if he needed anything, he gladly took advantage of the opportunity and threw her an explicit glance. She giggled as she helped him out of the tub, softly rubbed him down with a towel and massaged a scented oil into his body.

As she carefully took him between her lips and he felt her practised tongue slide along his hard length, Zevran sighed languidly, only too content to let her take care of his needs. Yes, it had been a very good idea to come to the Pearl, he decided.


	3. Cold Nights in the Mountains

**Chapter 3: Cold Nights in the Mountains**

Cat was shivering in her thin leathers. The nights up here in the mountains were unseasonably cold, and none of them was really dressed for the weather.

The elation they had all felt when the Urn of the Sacred Ashes had turned out to be more than just a legend, the new-found hope that they could save Arl Eamon after all, was dampened for the moment by the misery they felt at having to camp in this cold, bare spot. The others had already withdrawn into their tents, but she couldn't tear herself away from the fire, sitting close to it, staring up at the full pale moon.

"Carissima, you'll catch your death like this," she heard Zevran scold her gently, as he spread his warm woollen blanket over her shoulders. It was still warm from his body and she could smell his scent on it, spice and cinnamon and leather.

She gratefully snuggled down inside it, but then she felt an immediate tinge of guilty conscience. "But Zev, you are shivering just as much as I am," she protested. "At least come closer and share the warmth with me!"

She cursed her quick tongue, when she heard him laugh softly. "As you wish, my dear." She could feel him slip under the blanket with her, pulling her on his lap, his long lean body pressed up close to hers. "Aaaah, that's better."

She settled her head companionably on his shoulder as his arms went around her, and they warmed each other against the cold night air. "Much warmer," she sighed contentedly.

He laughed again. "It certainly is," he murmured. "Though I have to admit that being so close to you creates a certain amount of... additional heat for me." She felt him shuffle and blushed as she noticed his obvious reaction to her proximity.

Yet he felt so good... Without thinking she reached up and slowly brushed her lips against his. He looked at her with a quizzical expression, trying to read her mind.

"Well, well, my sweet, you never cease to surprise me," she heard him mutter. He returned her kiss, almost chastely, letting the tip of his tongue softly tease her lip for a second before withdrawing. When she sighed happily, he pulled her closer, his hands beginning to stroke her leather-clad thighs in soft, lazy circles, but the blanket slipped away and she squealed at the gust of cold air that brushed against her legs.

He cursed in mock desperation. "Those blasted mountains! Why does it have to be so cold up here!" he growled. "If we were in Antiva now, my love, where the summer nights are hot and the air is like liquid silk, do you know what I would do?" She shook her head, not trusting her voice. "I'd take you away from here, to somewhere a little more private," he purred against her ear, "and then I'd make love to you by the light of the moon, until you'd melt in my arms."

She trembled, captivated by the passion in his voice, willing him to go on. Her customary sharp wit seemed to have left her for the moment.

"Ah, my sweet, this is exquisite torture indeed," he groaned, pulling her into a deeper, harder kiss. She uttered a small moan of pleasure as his tongue swirled around hers, drawing her deeper, promising her sensations that she could only guess at so far. And Zevran found himself gasp for air at the feel of her soft, eager lips.

"Let me stay in your tent tonight, my beautiful," she heard him whisper. "Just to hold you, to warm you, nothing more. But," his voice grew rougher, more determined, "as soon as we reach Redcliffe and sleep in proper beds again, I'll be back to continue this... conversation, yes?" She nodded, still unable to speak, but she knew she'd spend the rest of the journey in a haze of pleasurable anticipation.


	4. Redcliffe Castle

**Chapter 4: Redcliffe Castle**

Cat looked around the huge luxurious bedchamber in disbelief. After so many nights spent in camp she'd have been happy with a pallet in the kitchen. But the Arlessa would have none of it. Overjoyed about her husband's recovery, she'd assigned his saviours luxurious guest chambers in the castle. And she'd insisted on a sumptuous banquet for them all, complete with acrobats and jugglers and bards. Well, that last one hadn't been a problem. Leliana had been only too happy to sing for them, enjoying a break from the more mundane duties she fulfilled when they were on the road. She did have a lovely voice, Cat decided as she recalled a particularly stirring rendition of an Orlesian love song about a knight and his lady love. And it hadn't failed to make an impact on the others either, judging by the heated glances Alistair had thrown at the pretty bard.

She yawned contentedly and curled up, ready for sleep, when a swift motion by the side of her bed made her jump and reach for her dagger. She immediately relaxed when she recognized Zevran's silhouette, though.

"Careful, cara, I'm not here to murder you in your sleep," she heard him whisper as he joined her on the huge bedstead. His voice was like rich, dark velvet, and she shivered with anticipation as she regarded him by the light of the oil lamp. He was wearing only thin leather pants and a white linen shirt, and the absence of his armour made him look softer, younger, less dangerous. Though she wasn't fooled by that - she knew there was nothing soft or harmless about Zevran.

She saw his tongue glide over his full lips in an appreciative motion as he took in her appearance, the soft, flimsy nightgown that half exposed her shoulders, her tousled red hair, her slightly flushed face. She expected him to kiss her, to take her into his arms, but instead he just looked at her for a minute, before he spoke.

"Take this off, my beautiful. I want to see you." Cat held her breath as he helped her unlace the nightgown, then pulled it off, feasting his eyes on her. She closed her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat and passion in his gaze.

Zevran was enchanted. He'd known she was beautiful, he'd glimpsed hints of pale skin more than once on their travels, but to see her like this... She was slim and supple, her whole body taut and fit, but her breasts, freed from the confines of her breast-band, were slightly bigger than he'd imagined, fitting perfectly into his hands. Her hips were softly curved, and the dark red triangle between her long, shapely legs, made him want to run his fingers through it, bury his face in those silky curls, feel her wetness...

He kissed her then, his lips burning hot on hers, his tongue pulling her into an enticing, intricate dance that left her breathless and panting. She felt his hands softly stroke down her neck, along her breastbone. He gently cupped her breasts, caressing her nipples with his calloused thumbs. She gave a small moan of pleasure that turned into a high-pitched cry when his tongue took over, circling, sucking, teasing until she thought she couldn't stand it any longer. His hands were everywhere, exploring, searching for sensitive spots, making her skin blaze with heat. Zevran felt his own pleasure mount as he caressed her. This was what he liked best about making love, getting to know a woman's most secret places, learning what pleased her, anticipating her every need and wish. His nimble fingers played her body like an instrument, while his lips and tongue tasted her, devoured her, made her his.

She moaned in ecstasy, but then he felt her hands reach for the laces of his shirt, trying eagerly to undo them. He brushed her aside and quickly threw off the offending garment, groaning when her fingers travelled over his muscular chest, his taut belly, grazing over his erect nipples. He pulled her close to him, feeling her hot trembling body all along the length of his torso. Her hands explored further down his stomach, hesitating when she felt him straining against the tight leather pants. He quickly peeled them off, noticing her shying away for a moment despite her curiosity, when she took in his naked form.

"Zev, I've never..." He nodded, took her hand and pulled it towards him, felt her stroke cautiously, then more confidently along his hard length.

It was not so much her innocence that excited him, but her eagerness, he realised. Zevran had never been too zealous to bed virgins, preferring experienced, skillful bed partners, but she was so curious, so quick to learn that it was a sheer pleasure to teach her.

Noting that his patience was wearing thinner, he pulled away from her hand, gently pushed her down on the bed and parted her legs. When his tongue stroked a slow, deliberate path over her hot core, she cried out again, pushing up against him, and he had to pause for a moment to let her become familiar with the intensity of the sensation. When he proceeded, she seemed to melt in his arms, her soft, breathless sighs of pleasure making him shiver as he tasted her deeply.

"Don't worry," he whispered against her, "I'm not going to hurt you." With infinite care, he slid one finger inside her, probing her readiness, gently widening her passage, preparing her for his assault. She arched against him, whimpering, and he quickly moved up, pulling her into another kiss, sliding between her legs and deep inside her in one fluid, measured motion. She screamed then, but not in pain. He sent a silent thank you to the Orlesian lady who'd taught him, long ago, how to take a girl's virginity without hurting her.

Softly, carefully he began to move inside her. She looked up at him, her eyes completely unguarded, and the sheer unadulterated lust he saw in them nearly made him lose control. He paused, trembling, then resumed his careful rhythm, feeling her hot and tight around him, watching her expression change as her pleasure slowly built towards its climax. With iron restraint, he took her higher and higher, his hands softly stroking her breasts, his hips moving between her legs in a slow but insistent pace.

When he finally felt her reach her release, her muscles tight around him, her face consumed with pleasure, he closed his eyes, letting his body take over, and sinking inside her hot depth again and again and again. As he let go, deep inside her, his orgasm hit him with such a powerful force, such a deep and satisfying intensity, that he cried out in amazement. He hadn't felt such intense pleasure in a very long time, even though he had had far more refined sensual delights thrown his way.

With a final hoarse groan he let himself sink onto the sheets next to her, pulling her into a deep embrace, kissing her hair, her lips, her eyes. When she looked up at him, her eyes still hazed over, his breath caught in his throat. Clearly he had got far more than he'd bargained for...


	5. Lessons in Love

**Chapter 5: Lessons in Love**

When Zevran snuck back into Cat's room the next evening, she was standing near the fireplace, a glass of dark red wine in her hand and a frown on her face. It had been a tiring day. Arlessa Isolde had seemed determined to show them off to every single one of her neighbours. _Come and see the heroes who saved the Arl!_ And of course she never failed to mention how she had been the only one to believe in the Urn's power in the first place. More than once he'd seen Cat clench her teeth in frustration, remembering all the knights who'd lost their life on this improbable wild-goose chase. Leaning against the mantelpiece, she sighed deeply, but when she noticed him, her face lit up in a bright smile.

"Zev! Would you help me with these?" she exclaimed, indicating the fastenings of her leather armour.

He walked over to her, his nimble fingers setting to work. "Your choice of dress didn't go down too well with the Arlessa, no?" he muttered as his lips softly brushed against her neck.

She frowned again. "No, she'd rather parade me around like a prize horse! Kept telling me a Teyrn's daughter should wear proper Fereldan costume. Stupid, useless woman. I should have killed her when I had the chance!"

"However," her face took on an impish expression as she let the last piece of her armour fall to the floor and disappeared for a minute behind the voluminous bed-curtains. "What do you think about this?"

Zevran's eyes widened and he whistled softly in appreciation. She was wearing a mere nothing made from the finest Orlesian silk. The lacy dark red fabric clung to her slim body, enhancing her curves.

"Where did you find this?" he inquired, joining her on the bed.

She smiled a truly feline smile. "Nicked it from the Arlessa's chest of drawers," she answered nonchalantly. "The woman has about a hundred of those, so she won't miss it. And I like the feel of it." She let her hands travel suggestively over her hips, looking up at him with a provocative expression.

Zevran raised an amused eyebrow. She seemed determined to be the one who did the seducing tonight. Well, he wasn't in a hurry, and he rather enjoyed seeing her in such a playful mood. "Tell me, my sweet Catalina, how did a nobleman's daughter become such an accomplished thief?" he asked, taking a sip from her glass of wine.

She pouted for a moment, disappointed at his delaying tactics, but then she launched into her story willingly enough. "That would be May's doing. She was a chambermaid at the castle, a reformed thief from Denerim. She'd been condemned to the gallows, you see, and had pleaded her belly. When the babe was born, my mother took her in." She made a face. "Mother made a huge show of how charitable she was, but she didn't let May forget for a second that she was keeping a close eye on her." Cat snorted. "May didn't steal a thing from my parents, though she could have picked any lock in the castle. Zev, that woman was an artist!"

He smiled at her flushed, excited face. "She taught you?"

Cat nodded. "I was eleven or twelve then, and I used to watch her little boy for her while she was fooling around with one of the footmen. In exchange, she spent hours showing me how to move silently, to pick locks and pockets..."

"And no one noticed?" Zevran asked incredulously.

"Well, Fergus did. But I never told Mother about him and the scullery maid either."

Cat shrugged off the memories, and snuggled closer to him. She wasn't going to let him distract her any further. Last night he had been in control, and she'd been grateful for his experience and skill. She vividly remembered her cousins' lurid tales of 'first nights', and she knew she'd been lucky beyond measure to have met Zevran. But tonight she wanted more than just to follow his lead.

"So, do you like me in this?" she asked again, indicating the revealing gown.

"'Like' isn't the word I'd use," he growled softly, letting his hand trail over the soft fabric that just barely covered her breasts, revelling in the feel of her firm flesh under the thin silk. She moved onto his lap, straddling him and let her lips brush tantalizingly against his.

Zevran responded immediately, kissing her deeply, taking his time until he felt her shiver under his hands. "Zev," she breathed. "Make love to me again! Tell me you still want me."

He laughed, a deep throaty chuckle. "And do you doubt that, cara mia? Of course I want you. I was afraid you might be a little sore, though."

"I was," she admitted. "But I asked Wynne for a salve. Told her I was saddle sore after the long ride from Haven."

He couldn't believe his ears. "And she bought that?"

Cat shrugged. "If she didn't, at least she didn't preach at me either. Now, don't you think I have a lot more to learn?" Her husky voice made him shiver as she touched him hesitantly, her fingers stroking him through his leather breeches.

He quickly caught her hand, placing a searing hot kiss on her wrist. "Not yet!" he commanded. "Undress me first."

Her eyes widened at his imperious tone, but she obeyed. Carefully she unlaced his shirt and pulled it over his head. Her gaze wandered over his body with frank admiration and curiosity, taking in his strong arms, his well-muscled chest, his chiseled abdomen. His skin had a deep golden colour, far darker than hers, and it shimmered in the candlelight like the silk she was wearing.

Encouraged by his stillness she let her hands wander all over his chest and belly, then her lips and tongue followed suit. He kept completely motionless, letting her explore, but he moaned softly when she sucked gently on his nipples. His eyes half-closed Zevran enjoyed her boldness, only occasionally directing her hands or mouth to a spot that gave him even more pleasure. Finally, she began to unlace his breeches, freeing his hard, straining member from the tight confines of the leather. She glided down between his thighs, planting a soft kiss on his tip and he gasped for air. His breath caught in his throat when she looked up at him with dark veiled eyes. "Teach me," she breathed, making him very nearly lose control.

"Later," he rasped, pulling her up with a powerful grip. His hands roamed her body, quickly setting her ablaze with desire. When he parted her legs, he felt her hot and wet and ready for him. She moved swiftly then, and straddled him again, emitting a soft cry as she slowly took his full length inside her. Zevran held on to her hips for a moment, letting them both adjust to the feeling. Then he let go of her and groaned at her soft careful motions. It was almost torturous for him to let her set the pace, yet he felt his own lust build up in a steady lazy curve he wasn't sure he could have achieved himself.

When he almost couldn't bear it any more, he took hold of her hips again and carefully rolled over with her. He held his weight propped up on his arms and began a slow, sweet grinding of his hips that made her writhe under him in pleasure. "Zev, oh Zev," he heard her sigh as he increased his pace, watching her, his own body taut like a bowstring. When she finally arched up against him with a hoarse cry, her muscles clenching around him, it took him only seconds to follow her.

"You really are a fast learner," he muttered, his lips softly caressing the top of her head.

She laughed softly, curling up closer to him. "I have a good teacher," she purred contentedly.


	6. Stress Relief

**Chapter 6: Stress Relief**

Cat yawned and stretched her tired body. It had been a long day, and most of it had been spent behind closed doors with the Arl, Bann Teagan and Alistair, trying to work out a strategy for the Landsmeet. Politics bored her, and she was itching to leave the castle, to get back on the road. Still, they would need a few more days to restock, make plans, get ready.

Zevran was late tonight, and she missed him. It had been five days since they'd arrived at Redcliffe, five nights she'd spent in his arms. Her body was already used to his touch, she realized, blushing at the recollection of the things he had done to her, the things he'd made her do to him. She ached for the sensation of his hands on her skin, feeling an emptiness ache inside her, just waiting to be filled.

It wasn't just his body she longed for, though. After they made love they would talk for hours. At first it had been mostly pleasant banter, with her talking of the many occasions when she had outwitted her strict mother, or him discreetly describing some amorous or felonious exploit.

Later they'd touched on darker subjects: the death of her family, her nightmares of the Archdemon, the things the Crows had made him do. It was so easy to talk to him that it seemed as if they'd shared most of their lives in those few nights.

Zevran was pacing the length of his room, fighting an internal battle between the wish to see her and a twisted professional pride. There he was, the famous assassin, seducer of ladies all over Thedas, and he couldn't wait to be with her. He could just imagine Taliesin's sneer. According to everything his teachers had taught him he should have stayed away after two or three nights, letting her pine for him, increasing her desire even more. Instead, he hadn't been able to keep his hands off her, like some lovestruck schoolboy.

He shook his head in disbelief, but then his features softened as his gaze fell upon the soft leather boots she'd given him on their return from Haven. They were made from the finest Antivan leather, the most thoughtful present anyone had ever given him. It was then that he realized that he was acting like a fool. She wasn't one of his conquests, no mark that he was seducing in order to kill her later. Remembering how tired she had seemed at dinner, he grabbed a little flask from his pack and set off toward her room.

At the sight of him her face lit up. "Zev! Where have you been?"

He took her in his arms, his earlier thoughts forgotten. "Did you miss me?"

She kissed him softly, her lips teasing his. "I was almost afraid the Arlessa had set a trap for you," she joked. "The way she was looking at me today, I'm pretty sure she suspects something. I guess the maids have been talking."

He frowned at her words, but she laughed off his concern. "Oh come on, Zev, the worst that can happen is another lecture on my duties as a nobleman's daughter. I can deal with that. She can't possibly be more bothersome than my mother." Her face took on a mischievous grin. "You know, when King Cailan came to visit us, years ago, Mother insisted I wear a purple brocade dress. She'd go on and on until I finally made sure I wouldn't be presentable for the occasion."

Zevran looked at her, an indulgent smile on his face. "What did you do?"

She smiled happily. "Cut off my hair. It went down to my waist before, but I trimmed it like a boy's. They had to hide me for weeks."

Zevran chuckled, though he felt a tinge of regret at the thought of that red mane. He could just imagine her, clad in nothing but her tresses...

"Anyway," she continued. "I'm not going to let that blue-blooded bitch keep me from wasting away my nights with a handsome Antivan assassin. What do you have in mind tonight?" Despite her beguiling words, she couldn't quite suppress a yawn, and he realized she hadn't got much sleep lately.

"Something special, just for you," he replied softly, quickly helping her out of her clothes. "Lie down on the bed for me, will you?"

She looked up intrigued as he took the tiny flask of scented oil from his pocket, and softly began spreading it over her back and shoulders. The sweet aroma of sandalwood filled the room as he began to massage her, very thoroughly, loosening all the knots and kinks in her back before moving on to her arms and legs.

He paid special attention to her curved buttocks, before he gently turned her over and started on her front. She sighed happily as his hands deftly moved all over her, slowly circling her breasts and her navel. When he focussed on her nipples, the warm oil making his fingers slick and slippery, her breathing grew faster. He kissed her tenderly as his hands wandered deeper and he began exploring between her legs, eliciting small happy sighs from her.

When he judged her ready, he turned her over on her side, threw off his clothes and wrapped himself around her, the touch of her warm oiled body all the stimulation he needed. Slowly, inch by inch, he entered her from behind, his hand reaching around her and caressing her in soft slow strokes. She gasped and pressed back against him. He kept his movements soft and smooth, her body tensing gradually under his hands until she began to quiver all over.

He moved a little away from her then, positioning his body at a right angle to hers, so that he could move more freely. His upper thigh gently slid between hers, increasing the pressure on her soft mound, and she responded immediately. He was moving only a tiny bit faster now, watching the dreamy expression on her face, still keeping to a subtle, almost sedate pace, but he could feel the tension in her increase steadily, until she finally arched up against him with a long sweet moan and he felt her relax all over. With a contented sigh he turned her over on her belly, and with a few swift strokes found his own release.

She felt entirely boneless in his arms, and she fell asleep almost immediately. He looked down in wonder at her serene face, her long white neck, her soft skin, once again amazed at how much she trusted him. Even though he'd told her about Rinna, she'd placed her life in his hands without hesitation. And she was right, he realized. He could no more have killed her than he could have cut out his own heart.


	7. Two Birds of a Feather

**Chapter 7: Two Birds of a Feather**

It seemed they would never get to leave Redcliffe Castle. Just when all their preparations were complete, a heavy rain had set in. There was not much point in travelling in this weather, so they stayed on. They were all raring to go, though, their mood getting more testy and irritable with each day.

If it hadn't been for Zevran, Cat would have lost her mind. Funnily enough, none of the others seemed to notice what they were up to at night. Well, Wynne certainly had her suspicions. And Morrigan had smiled a lazy, knowing smile, when Cat had asked her for the ingredients of a certain herbal tea. Back when May had left Redcliff Castle with her handsome footman, this recipe had been her farewell present. "I don't want you to get in trouble, honey," she had said with a wink.

_Oh well, there are all kinds of trouble_, Cat thought philosophically as she went on a final round of their rooms to check all their packs. Everything was perfect, bowstrings mended, blades whetted, provisions packed. They were ready to set out in the morning.

When she wandered into Zev's room, he welcomed her with a radiant smile. "Glad we're finally leaving, cara?" he asked.

"More than just glad," she sighed. "Though I am going to miss the soft beds..."

He grinned wickedly and, before she could guess his intention, had her pressed against the wall, pinning her wrists above her head with his right hand while his left started softly stroking her breasts through her thin shirt. "Don't worry, my love," he said huskily. "Who needs beds when there's soft moss and downy grass and... walls."

She swallowed. "Walls?" His grin became more mischievous and she could feel him hard against her stomach, his hands busy with the strings of her shirt.

Before he could elaborate, however, the door burst open and Alistair barged in. "Zev, did you remember to..." His eyes widened and he immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion. "Damn it Arainai, get your hands off her. What do you think you're doing?" He raised his hand, trying to land a punch on Zevran's chin, but that turned out to be a near-fatal mistake.

All she saw was a quick flurry of movements, too fast for her to make out in detail, and Alistair found himself lying on the floor with Zevran astride his chest, a thin curved blade pressed to his throat.

"You shifty Antivan bastard!" Alistair sputtered, but Zevran just smiled, his eyes half closed.

"It's never wise to insult a man who's holding a knife to your throat," he hummed, softly increasing the pressure of the blade to draw a few drops of blood. Alistair paled visibly.

"Enough!" Cat cut in, and Zevran immediately jumped to his feet in a fluid, graceful motion. "Alistair, if you intended to defend my honour, you're more than a bit late," she remarked flippantly, realizing her mistake when she saw his face.

He wore an expression of pure shock and disgust as he looked at her. "Are you telling me you let this... this dirty street thug, this _scum_, make a whore out of you?"

"He's considerably cleaner than you, Alistair," she answered dryly, "and I don't think a few nights with him make me a whore."

Zevran could clearly hear the deep hurt in her voice, under her mask of cool disdain, but Alistair ignored it and just went on, too appalled to care. "Cat, how could you? You're Bryce Cousland's daughter, you could have married a king!"

Her stare became icy, as she looked at him. "_Could have_? And now I'm damaged goods, Alistair, is that what you are saying?" The knight blanched, visibly shaken. "Get out!" she snarled, and he was smart enough to obey.

Zevran looked at her pale face, her trembling lips, and realized how frayed her nerves must be. "Don't mind him, love," he said lightly. "He was just surprised. He'll see reason tomorrow."

She took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. "I'll make him apologize to you. No one will talk like this to the man I love."

His head snapped up and he looked at her, not sure he'd heard her right. "That's a big word," he replied warily.

"Too big for a little girl, you mean!" He could hear her fury, now directed at him.

"That's not what I meant," he said softly. "But you do realize that it's only natural to fall in love with your first lover. It doesn't mean..."

She shook her head violently, clearly rejecting his facile explanation, but she let it go for now. "Just don't leave me, Zev!" She looked very young and vulnerable for a moment.

He carefully put an arm around her shoulder. "I won't, cara. Though, you know, Alistair is not completely wrong. Who knows, after the Blight, you might want to settle down with one of your kind..."

She gave a bitter little laugh and looked up at him. "My kind? After the Blight I'll probably be dead, Zev. But if by some miracle I shouldn't be, I'm counting on you to get me away from them."

She paced the room like a caged animal, more agitated than he'd ever seen her. "Zev, if there was one good thing about the attack on my parents' home, in the midst of all the horror, it was that it freed me of that life. I always hated it. Zev, I would have wilted there. I need the road, I need the fighting, and the stealing, and the danger. I'm more like you than you think."

"Don't say that! You don't know me!" It was his turn to sound bitter. "You have no idea of the things I've done. I'm an assassin, Cat, I _enjoy_ killing, the power of it, the rush..."

"And you think I don't?" Her voice was trembling with a feverish passion now. "Zev, I'm no sweet little angel, no pretty little plaything. Maybe it's the taint, maybe it's just me. At any rate, when Duncan had me drink from that chalice, he took away any chance I ever had of a happy, peaceful future. All that's in store for me is fighting, killing, and an early death. But there's one thing I know, and it's that I want to be with you!"

She kissed him hard, a desperate, violent kiss, biting his lip and hissing at him. "Damn it, Zev, make love to me now, no, _fuck_ _me_, like there's no tomorrow!"

Her words and her torrid raspy voice made something snap inside him and he pulled her close in a rough, almost brutal grip. They went down to the floor, tearing at each other's clothes, possessed by a raw primal need that brooked no delay. She wrapped her legs around his waist with an urgent groan, and he thrust inside her, not caring if she was ready for him, consumed by this burning craving to _be_ with her, to _join_ with her. It was a hurried, frenzied coupling, all refinement stripped away by naked intense desire. As she came with a hoarse scream in his arms, he collapsed over her, shivering uncontrollably.

When he came to his senses, he was struck by an immediate sense of shame and worry. "Did I hurt you, love? Cat?"

She shook her head, but he saw streaks of blood on her hands, and suddenly realized it was his own. Deep bloody scratches ran over his back, and he saw her eyes widen in shock. "Zev... oh Zev, I'm so sorry." She quickly got an injury kit from the pack and started cleaning and dressing the wounds. He let her take care of him, still too shaken to protest. Then he held her close as dry sobs racked her body.

When she tried to speak, he shushed her. "Enough," he whispered. "You were right. Let's enjoy what we have and take each day as it comes. Who knows whether we'll be alive tomorrow."


	8. Confined Spaces

**Chapter 8: Confined Spaces**

They were finally on the road again, heading toward the Brecilian Forest where they were going to remind the Dalish of their promise to help the Wardens. The road was hardly safe these days. Bandits, darkspawn, and now bears. More than once Wynne had had to set bones, patch them up with healing spells, or revive a fallen companion. Yet it felt good to fight, to _do_ something again.

Zevran and Cat had been cautious and wary in each other's presence for a few days, but eventually they had managed to lock the memories of the last night at Redcliffe away in a safe place, and they had resumed their playful, passionate love-making. Their relationship had changed subtly, though. Zevran realized that he'd once again underestimated her. He'd been utterly shocked by the depth of hurt and resignation that he'd glimpsed on that night. Yet here she was, discussing herbs with Morrigan, singing along with Leliana's songs or trying to draw out Sten from his stony silence, as if nothing had happened.

It helped that Zev never held a grudge for long. Only two days after they'd left, she heard him joke and laugh with Alistair at the campfire. Cat, who still maintained an icy silence towards her fellow warden despite his clumsy attempts at reconciliation, couldn't quite fathom this. When she asked Zevran about it, he just shrugged.

"Ah, Catalina, I've been called worse things before. You Fereldans really aren't all that inventive when it comes to profanity. And he had to strike at me in some way, no? It was hard on him to be bested so easily. Besides," he looked at Alistair, who was gathering firewood on the other side of the camp, with an almost fond expression, "I know jealousy when I see it, and I know it's difficult to bear."

"Jealousy?" she exclaimed. "Why would he be jealous? He's only got eyes for Leliana."

Zevran shook his head. "Not a lover's jealousy, my sweet," he explained patiently. "He's just hurt because he feels he's lost his special place as your trusted friend. And he's really sorry about his rash words; he told me so."

She snorted and grumbled something unintelligible, but he could see she was thinking about it. When he heard her gently tease Alistair about his dirty boots later that night, he smiled to himself quietly.

A few days later they made camp in a little copse of trees by the road. It had been a relatively uneventful day, just one small band of darkspawn that they'd easily beaten off. Zevran was watching Cat's face, fascinated by the play of the firelight on her soft features. She was finishing off her soup, her tongue darting out to lick a few drops off her full lips. When she realized he was looking at her, her green eyes met his gaze, and he could see her mouth curve upwards into an amused smile. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her. Her smile grew broader as she got up, stretched with a yawn and, with a quick goodnight directed at Alistair and Leliana, walked off gracefully toward her tent, her hips swinging invitingly, throwing a tiny glance back over her shoulder at him. Without hesitation he got to his feet and followed her.

Her tent was tiny, with barely enough space for her bedroll and her packs. They couldn't undress without bumping and brushing against each other constantly, a fact that didn't exactly bother them. When they were both naked, he sat down on her bedroll and pulled her down on his lap for a soft, lingering kiss. She moaned happily, and soon their hands and lips were busy, softly igniting each other's passion.

She looked beautiful in the light of the oil lamp. He sighed, wishing for a little more privacy. Their love-making had of necessity become more subdued out here. He missed her wilder side, he realized. Oh well, there were other ways to spice things up... He softly slid his hand between her legs, probing gently and caressing her expertly until she was pushing hard against him, asking wordlessly for more.

He shifted her body a little until she was facing him, her long legs around his waist, and sat back on his haunches. Wrapping his arms around her slender body, he gently guided her downwards on his hard shaft, until he felt her all around him, warm and tight and wonderful. Then he let her sink back a little and kissed her deeply, as he began to move in and out of her in small measured strokes.

With a small movement of his head he directed her gaze downward. Her eyes widened when she discovered that in this position she could watch, she could see how he slid inside her and back out again. Zev heard her quick gasp of excitement and smiled inwardly. This never failed to arouse him either.

He tightened his grip around her as he increased the tempo of his strokes, and he felt her grab his back harder, as her hips joined in the movement, burying him deep inside her again and again. When she finally strained against him in a shudder of ecstatic relief, he came so hard that he bit into her shoulder to suppress a scream.

Afterwards they cuddled up close for a nap, until she had to crawl out into the cool night air for her turn to keep watch. When she looked back at him, stretched out on her bedroll, fast asleep, she couldn't help but smile. Lack of space had its own rewards, it seemed...


	9. Maker's Blessings

**Chapter 9: Maker's Blessings**

Zevran was looking at Cat with an indulgent smile as she was carefully picking the lock on the side door of the small village Chantry. Her obsession with locks never failed to amuse him. While he could easily deal with the simpler mechanisms himself, she was a master of the art, always on the lookout for new challenges. She even carried a set of intricate locks with her for practice, and she'd squeal with delight whenever she'd solved a particularly intriguing puzzle. He much preferred to enter by way of roofs and balconies himself, but then his victims would usually rely more on guards than on complicated locks. In his line of work stealth served him better, and he'd never been much interested in thieving and robbery.

Not that they had come to rob the place tonight. There wouldn't have been much point in it; the village was poor, the Chantry almost deserted even in the daytime. The Revered Mother was an ancient, rather sweet lady, who was now peacefully asleep in her little house across the village square. No, they had come for something else.

The lock opened with hardly a noise and he could almost see her triumphant smile despite the darkness. Cautiously they moved through the aisle, making sure all was quiet. The building was completely silent and looked quite beautiful in the dim light of the small lamp burning in honour of Andraste. Zevran pulled Cat towards a quiet spot close to the western wall, where a carpet covered the floor.

"Finally some privacy!" he breathed into her ear as he drew her into a close embrace.

She laughed, torn between qualms and desire. "Zev, you're mad," she whispered. "Why here?"

He shrugged, his hands already busy with the fastenings of her armour. "Why not? It's warm, safe, reasonably comfortable. Much cleaner than our inn. And I'm sure the Maker sees all that we do anyway!"

She shook her head, unsure whether to laugh or to scold. "You're impossible!" she moaned against his lips, but his quick, feather-light touches were very convincing, and she didn't really put up any resistance when he began to undress her.

Alistair couldn't believe his eyes. He'd asked the Revered Mother for the Chantry key earlier that day, telling her he wished to come back later to pray. That was only half true, however. What he really needed was a quiet place to think. The realization that Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan expected him to take the throne after the Landsmeet had hit him like a ton of bricks. He was no king, he knew that. The peace and quiet of the Chantry would help him weigh his options, or so he hoped as he settled into a corner pew, half hidden in the shadows.

He didn't hear them come in. They were moving so silently, so stealthily, that he only noticed them when they stepped out into the brightly lit patch where the moon was shining through the huge side window. For a second he considered making his presence known, but then he heard them laugh and whisper, and he held back for a moment, curious as to their intentions. They were only a few yards from him, yet he couldn't make out their words. It was only when they began to kiss passionately that he realized what they were doing here.

He was shocked by their audacity, appalled at the affront to the devout, yet at the same time he couldn't bring himself to step forward to call them out. The sheer unearthly beauty of the scene was utterly captivating as they embraced each other, their lips hungrily seeking each other, their hands dancing over their bodies to quickly remove their armour. When Zevran started to pull up Cat's thin linen shift, Alistair couldn't suppress a quick gasp. They both froze for a second, then he could see Zevran whisper something in her ear.

She laughed with abandon and slowly, gracefully raised her hands to pull the shirt over her head. The soft movement of her breasts as her arms rose and sank back again to her side was the most seductive thing he'd ever seen. His own amorous exploits after leaving the Order had been limited to hasty fumblings in the dark with willing barmaids in the taverns on the road. This was a completely different experience. He watched, almost in a trance, as they both undressed, their naked bodies locked in a tight embrace, their limbs tangled, their faces ecstatic.

When Zevran's lips closed around her nipples, he could hear her cry out softly. Alistair trembled, realizing that watching them had made him more aroused than he could remember ever having been. It was all he could do to keep his hands away from his own, rock-hard erection, when he saw Cat slowly getting on her knees in front of her lover and he heard the assassin groan with pleasure.

Zevran pulled her up again into a long kiss, then turned her around, making her bend down over one of the pews. Alistair had a full view of the scene as Zevran slowly, languorously, entered her, taking his time as she moaned with pleasure. The knight felt a furious flame on his cheeks, an urgent heat in his groin as he desperately fought to keep some vestige of control. As their sighs got more breathless, their movements more frenzied, he couldn't take it any longer. Snatching the opportunity when they both cried out in ecstasy, their eyes closed, he quickly snuck past the pews and out through the side door, his whole body shaking with need and confusion.

Zevran pulled Cat's body closer to his, licking the pearls of sweat off her naked back, and laughed softly. "Well, do you think he enjoyed what he saw?" he whispered against her ear.

She made a small sound, halfway between lust and amusement. "I bet he did," she purred. "I have a feeling we had a very appreciative audience."


	10. Gambling for High Stakes

**Chapter 10: Gambling for High Stakes**

They were relieved when they finally left the Forest behind. Even though they had managed to lift the werewolves' curse and to persuade the Dalish to join their cause, there had been so much death, so much madness, so much sorrow. Now they finally felt entitled to some laughter and levity again.

Only Alistair was still in a foul mood, had been for some weeks now, really. Cat had a pretty good idea of what made him so tense and irritable, but she wasn't sure what to do about it. It was Zevran who finally stepped up to Leliana and asked her for a quiet word. Cat watched them talk, saw the bard's indignant face, her hand raised as if to slap Zevran. When he returned he was smiling, though, and that night Leliana whispered something into Alistair's ear. He blushed, but later in the evening he joined her in her tent.

When they broke camp next morning, Alistair was his old likeable self again, happy, relaxed and ready for any jest, with a hint of a swagger in his step.

Cat looked at her lover. "What in the Maker's name did you tell Leliana?" she asked.

Zevran shrugged. "Just that, while a little delay always helps to make things more... interesting, she'd better not drive her sweet Templar completely insane, if she wants to enjoy him."

Cat threw him a look from under half-closed lids. "So you think a little delayed gratification makes things more interesting, do you?"

"It most certainly does," he replied with a smug expression. "Of course that would demand a degree of restraint that not everyone possesses..."

She smiled impishly. "Not everyone, eh? Zev, my love, what would you say to a little wager?"

His ears pricked up. "Oh? This should be interesting." They'd recently taken to playing cards in the evenings, trying to catch each other cheating. This, however, sounded a lot more intriguing.

"A simple bet. First one to lose control, loses the wager," she suggested.

He laughed. "You don't stand a chance, carissima, you know that, yes? But if you insist... What are the rules?"

She answered without a moment's hesitation. "Just eyes, words, chaste touches. No hands on bare skin, except for the hands and face. No fondling, no embraces."

He grinned, liking this better every minute. "That sounds fair. And what will you do when I win?"

"_If_ you win," she corrected him, "I will tidy up and clean your tent, top to bottom." He knew how much she hated cleaning.

"I'll accept that," he said after a moment's consideration.

"And if _I_ win," she went on, "you'll have to bathe Fluffy."

Zev took a look at the huge Mabari and shuddered. Bathing Fluffy was a messy, malodorous affair, and Zevran was fastidious about his appearance. "Deal," he confirmed, and they set off towards Denerim.

The first day wasn't too hard. Of course Zevran took advantage of every little chink in the rules, brushing his hands softly against hers every chance he got, gripping her firmly around the waist to 'help' her over a creek, making suggestive remarks whenever the others were out of earshot. She paid him back in kind by letting her hips sway just a tiny bit more whenever she walked in front of him, laughing a little too breathlessly, fastening her armour a little loosely so he could frequently catch glimpses of soft white flesh. "Tease," she heard him growl, when she took off her helmet and shook out her hair at their lunch break. His hoarse voice made her shiver. They were both enjoying themselves immensely.

In the evening Zevran was preparing to set up his own tent when she stopped him. "I do think we should share a tent, don't you? After all, we wouldn't want anyone to... cheat," she purred.

His eyes widened for a moment as the images she conjured up with her words made his imagination soar. Her body writhing on the bedroll, her hands touching her breasts, playing between her legs... He cleared his throat. "Of course," he answered glibly.

When Cat woke up early next morning, he lay curled up around her body, his hand softly cupping her breast. For a moment she pressed against him instinctively, rubbing her back against his hardness, then she remembered the wager and stiffened. He groaned in his sleep and she felt his hand caressing her nipples, her body eagerly responding.

With a determined grip she removed his hand, eliciting a small chuckle from him. "What?" he exclaimed innocently when she glared at him. "I can't be held responsible for what I do in my sleep, can I?"

At the sound of his voice, of his damnably beguiling accent, she felt a hot flame deep inside her. She swallowed hard, when she looked at him, his naked torso, his sleep-tousled hair, the full lips, the sleepy golden eyes... He knew it, of course, the bastard. Throwing him a dark look, she crawled out of the tent, and he followed close behind. It took all her restraint not to snarl at Leliana when she saw the bard's happy, sated expression.

The second day was pure torture. Every time she noticed his eyes on her her skin seemed to burn under his gaze. She didn't dare touch him any more. Her mind was flooded with images that made her blush. Her irritable mood didn't go unnoticed, and Alistair looked at her in hurt bewilderment when she rudely brushed off his worried questions about her well-being. Zevran for his part couldn't keep his eyes off her. The way she was worrying her lower lip in frustration, the subtle gooseflesh he noticed on her arms when he accidentally touched her in passing, the intoxicating scent he breathed in when he came closer to her, very nearly made him come undone.

When they made camp that night, they entered the tent wordlessly, not trusting their voices if they spoke, and lay down without touching. The air between them was so thick with tension that it could have been cut with a knife. He heard her toss and turn as he lay awake, cursing silently. How could she have such an effect on him? He fought off images of her naked in his arms, desperately disciplining his thoughts. More than once he toyed with the idea of throwing the stupid wager to the wind, but his pride wouldn't let him admit defeat. When he finally fell into a fitful sleep, his dreams were so graphic and detailed that he woke up shaking with desire, unsure of whether he was dreaming or awake.

The darkspawn attack later that morning came almost as a relief. As he focussed on the fighting, on the rapid, intricate dance of his blades, on his silent, deadly moves, he felt his head clear for a while. And when they washed off the gore in a little icy creek, the cold water was soothing to his frazzled nerves. Yet, as the day wore off the craving returned in full force, even more burning than before.

When they were finishing their stew that night, he caught her eye, and her expression made him almost moan out aloud. For a blinding moment he wanted to grab her, to take her there and then. She must have felt it too, for she got up abruptly and walked away towards the trees' edge.

"Don't walk too far," Alistair called after her in a worried tone.

"I'll be fine," she replied. "I'm taking Fluffy, he'll smell any danger."

Zevran's eyes followed her every move until he caught Morrigan's languid, amused gaze. Cursing under his breath, he took out his daggers and began to clean them, carefully whetting the slim, curved blades. The others drifted away to their tents, Sten taking first watch. It was still light and fairly warm; he could even hear birds sing in the trees.

He was pondering whether he should follow her, when he heard the faint noise of Fluffy's bark in the distance. In a flash he was on his feet, grabbing his weapons and following the noise.

He found her backed up against a rocky outcrop, surrounded by dead wolves. Two of them had had their throats torn out by Fluffy, the third and fourth had been sliced neatly by her blade. There were three more, though, circling her and the dog warily, ready to attack, and he saw a flash of relief cross her face at his timely arrival. Together they made short work of the remaining beasts.

As they were walking away from the carnage, he turned to her with a worried frown. "Are you hurt?"

There was a small spattering of blood on her sleeve, and he reached out to let his hand run gently over it. His brief touch made them both gasp, and he felt the carefully built dams of his control break within the wink of an eye. Her gaze was burning with the same feverish desire, and suddenly her lips were on his, neither of them knowing which had moved first.

His mouth was scorching hot, setting her whole body on fire, as he pushed her back roughly against the trunk of a tree. She moaned his name between kisses, and they sank down on the soft moss, quickly discarding their armour, their hands shaking with passion. When he thrust inside her they both cried out, overcome by the rightness of it, the sheer naturalness with which their bodies joined. The sounds and images of the forest around them faded away, and for what felt like an eternity there was nothing but the softness of their skin, the heat of their bodies, the burning, ardent urgency of their desire.

When Cat finally opened her eyes again, Fluffy whined at her accusingly from his place a few yards away. Dusk was approaching rapidly, and she shivered in the evening cool. Zevran rolled off her, one eyebrow raised in question. "Well, carissima, so who do you think won our little wager?"

She laughed a little shakily. "I guess we'll have to call it a draw."


	11. Cat Burglars

**Chapter 11: Cat Burglars**

They were back in Denerim, where they had spent all week re-provisioning, selling useless trinkets, buying potions and injury kits. Now they were trying on armour at Wade's, and Alistair and Sten both sported shiny new breastplates and helmets. They were about to leave the emporium when Cat spotted a beautiful set of leather armour in the corner. It was so dark as to be almost black, very plain, without patterns or decorations, but when she touched it, the leather was incredibly soft to the touch and she felt the magic sizzling through it.

Herren came over and smiled at her enchanted face. "Ah, you've noticed this. It's a particularly well-crafted piece. So soft you won't even feel it, so light you'll move with the grace of a panther, but magically hardened so no blade or arrow will pierce it. Only eight gold pieces for you."

She swallowed. They'd never be able to afford this, not with the amount of money they'd just spent on the warriors' gear. Oh but she _wanted_ this armour, she _coveted_ it.

Zevran saw the look on her face and laughed softly. "I feel almost jealous, love," he whispered in her ear.

They wandered over to the Gnawed Noble Tavern in silence, settling down at the bar. "Why so grim?" the barkeep inquired jovially.

Cat cursed violently. "Why does everything in this thrice-damned town have to be so expensive?" she snarled in frustration.

"Well, now, if you're looking to make some coin and aren't too picky, I might have some... opportunities for you," the man muttered.

"How much coin are we talking here?" Cat's face lit up as the bartender quickly outlined several jobs involving the retrieval of compromising letters, the theft of mementoes that had become embarrassments and other work of the shady kind. A quick computation showed her that they'd be looking at a minimum of 20 Gold for the combined list. Zevran was just as enthusiastic. The day before he'd seen a set of Antivan daggers that he wanted to give her as a gift. The long sleek weapons were beautifully crafted, with carved hilts and wicked blades, sharp as sin. With a tiny touch of poison on the blades they'd be deadlier than any greatsword. If only money hadn't been quite so tight.

Wynne's lips tightened in disapproval. "It's not my place to tell you what to do, Cat, but don't rely on my help in this," she declared. Both Alistair and Sten seemed to agree with the mage, and even Morrigan made it abundantly clear that the two rogues would be alone in this.

Zevran smiled. "I'm with you if you want, my beautiful. There'll be a bigger share for each of us if the others aren't interested."

The assignments turned out to be a source of pure enjoyment for both of them. They'd scale the rooftops at night, moving with silent grace through the darkness, enjoying the thrill of secrecy and stealth. Zevran would take the lead, scout out the surroundings, find a way in over balconies and through seemingly inaccessible windows, while she would take care of locks and traps. They worked together in perfect synchronicity, and it took them only three nights to complete all the assignments but one.

They left the most difficult task for the fourth night - a huge noble estate guarded by dogs and armed mercenaries, where they had to retrieve a misguided missive written by a young lady cursed with singularly bad judgment. Everything went smoothly. The dogs went to sleep happily after a meal of drugged beefsteak, the guards never knew what hit them from behind, and the locks of the study door and the huge wooden desk presented no serious obstacle to Cat's nimble fingers. They quickly made their way back over the rooftops and had almost reached their inn when they paused for breath. Zevran seemed almost drunk with elation as he pulled her into a passionate embrace, kissing her deeply and murmuring seductive words into her ear. Then as he turned back, his attention caught up for a split second by her soft sigh, his foot slipped on a loose tile and he slithered over the roof's edge. He managed to land almost without a noise, but she could hear him gasp. In the wink of an eye she was at his side. His ankle looked curiously twisted and he seemed to be in pain, but he clung to her shoulders without a sound as they quickly made their way back into their room.

Only once they were safely indoors did he allow a steady stream of words in his native tongue to pass his lips. Cat had only learned a few words of Antivan so far, but she didn't doubt that she was just listening to some of the most profane and obscene swearwords she'd ever come across.

"I'll go wake Wynne," she sighed. He nodded grimly, less than enthusiastic to have another witness to this embarrassing incident, but he knew just as well as she did that his leg would need expert treatment if he wanted to remain as agile as he was.

Wynne entered the room, her face a silent mask of reproof as she quickly examined his ankle. "The bone is broken," she said. "I can set it for you, but it will hurt. A lot."

Zevran shook his head impatiently at her warning, motioning for her to get on with it. As she gently grasped his foot and sensed the bones slide into their proper place, Wynne could feel him tense. Little beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, but to her surprise he didn't utter the tiniest sound of pain. Of course, she realized. His Crow training had probably included lessons in how to stand up to torture. Despite herself she was impressed.

"Right," she said. "I'll put on a poultice to take the pain away and cast a spell that will make the bone mend quickly, but you mustn't move the leg, at least for this one night, preferably longer." She looked at Cat. "Make him rest the leg, I don't care how. Tie him to the bed if you have to."

The mage left with a final reproachful look, and Cat dropped on the bed next to her lover with a sigh of relief. "Maker, I'm glad. I was really worried about you for a moment."

Zevran made a small soothing sound and put his arms around her, pulling her into a long deep kiss. She sighed contentedly at the touch of his naked body, but then he shifted below her and she felt him tense in pain. Immediately she pulled out of his embrace. "Now be good, Zev, you heard what she said," she scolded him.

Zevran grinned, remembering the mage's choice of words. "Well, what are you going to do about it?" he breathed, a wicked glint in his eyes.

To his surprise Cat didn't blush but smiled too, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips as she reached for her pack. His eyes went wide when she produced a set of thin leather straps and quickly fastened his wrists to the bedposts. He tested the knots. They were firm but he was pretty sure he could get them off if he really wanted to.

As she proceeded to remove his pants and tie his legs to the bed, taking special care with the injured one, he couldn't resist asking.

"You seem to be awfully familiar with the... mechanics of this, cara mia. Where did you learn this?"

She glanced back over her shoulder with a quick smile. "When we were at the Pearl three days ago, I asked Sanga about their more exotic services. Especially the ones that don't involve nugs. She was _very_ helpful."

Zevran was stunned. She never ceased to surprise him. As soon as she had him tied securely, she moved to the foot of the bed where he could see her and began to slowly, seductively take off her shirt, then her pants. Her hair had grown out a little lately, and she had taken to wearing it in a short braid on their nightly excursions. Now she undid the clasp and softly shook out the red strands. A warm feeling began to spread in his belly at the sight of her beautiful naked body.

He was still a little wary, though, knowing that what she had in mind required considerable skill to pull off. He needn't have worried. Within minutes her hands and lips and tongues brought him to a point where he began to strain against his bonds. As she moved across his body, slowly caressing every inch of skin, he felt his nerves begin to tingle. She watched his reactions, remembering what he'd taught her, always ready to move to another sensitive spot, to adapt the pressure of her hands, the tempo of her tongue's quick strokes. When she let the soft strands of her hair brush slowly over his nipples, he gave a hoarse groan. She took her time as she moved in a tantalizingly slow spiral ever closer to his groin, where his arousal had by now become only too evident.

Zevran felt as if every single tendon in his body was stretched to breaking point, when she finally carefully let her tongue swipe over his tip. He arched into her touch, but at the same time he realized that he wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer. "Cara, if you want me..." he warned, his voice strangled with desire.

She laughed softly as she straddled him, teasing him with her hot wet core. Just as he thought he couldn't take it any longer, she quickly moved, impaling herself on his length. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing her to keep still, and she thankfully obliged.

But then, while he was still busy catching his breath again, he felt a soft ripple of muscles along his shaft. He fought for breath, the feeling so intense that he nearly lost control.

"Do that again!" he moaned, and she obeyed willingly. "Ye Gods! Did you learn this from Sanga too?" he managed to gasp.

She laughed again, satisfied with his reaction. "Yes, I did, actually. I asked her about the secret of her success, and she... explained."

If it had been possible for him to be even more aroused, the thought of this conversation between the two would have done the trick, but as it was he just couldn't wait. "Cat!" he panted against her skin, and she finally took pity on him. With a swift move she cut the ties holding his hands with her dagger, leaving him free to grasp her hips and grind her against him in a fierce motion. The single hard thrust was enough to finish him off, his body bucking up hard against hers, his mind consumed by a violent shockwave of lust. She rode him for a few more seconds, crying out when her lust reached a sharp, acute peak, then she sank down on top of him, her warm body covering his.

As she softly untied his legs, pulled a warm blanket over his body and nestled close to him, Zevran was still reeling from the tempest that had ripped through him. He shivered as they both drifted off towards sleep.

When Wynne returned the next morning to check on his ankle, she seemed content. "Just don't overdo it for a week or so and it should be as good as new," she commanded. "No more rooftop adventures, that's for sure."

"A pity!" Zev muttered with a meaningful look over her shoulder at Cat.

She returned his gaze with a wicked grin. "A pity indeed," she murmured softly.


	12. No Words Necessary

**Chapter 12: No Words Necessary**

In a few days their party was going to set out for Orzammar and the Deep Roads. Cat was excited and worried at the same time at the prospect. This would be the crucial test of her abilities as a Warden. No one went into the Deep Roads but a few hardy dwarves - and the Grey Wardens.

They had withdrawn into their room at the inn early that night. Cat took up her favourite place on the wooden bench in front of the window, with a view of Denerim's busy marketplace. She wasn't in the mood for talking tonight. She needed time to think.

Fondly she looked over at Zevran who was carefully disassembling and cleaning his favourite leather armour. One of the things she loved most about him was the way he took so much care with his gear and with his appearance. Approvingly she let her gaze travel over his immaculate white shirt, his carefully brushed and braided blond hair. He was scrubbing the leather breastplate with saddle soap, sponging away tiny spots of blood. When he was satisfied, he began to apply oil to the soft dark leather. Cat watched his hands, his long dexterous fingers moving with light quick strokes, and breathed in the fragrance of the leather and the oil. She felt utterly at peace with him.

Zevran looked up briefly and smiled at her pensive face. Much as he loved her vivacious temperament, it was moments like this that he enjoyed particularly. Sitting here quietly with her made him realize how close they had grown, how vital her presence had become for his happiness. Underneath all the pride and swagger all he really craved was to be with her. With a small contented sigh he reached for the Dalish leather gloves she'd given him and carefully began to remove some speckles of dirt with a soft cloth.

She smiled when she saw the gloves and let her thoughts drift back to the day when she'd found them at an abandoned campsite out in the Brecilian Forest. At the sight of the soft leather with its downy fur lining she had immediately been reminded of the heart-breaking story he had told her of his mother, and she knew she had found the perfect gift. He'd been deeply moved and had worn them ever since.

It seemed strange, she mused, that his mother had been Dalish. He was so different from the Elves they'd encountered in the Forest, those haughty creatures that would have preferred to avoid all contact with humans. Zevran seemed to have nothing in common with them. In fact, most of the time she didn't even think of him as Elven. Antivan, yes, with his tanned skin and exotic looks. An assassin, by all means, dangerous and lethal. But Dalish?

And yet - he had seemed subtly different during the time they'd spent with Zathrian's clan. She vividly recalled the nights at Sarel's campfire, where they had sat listening to his tales about Arlathan and the Dales. She smiled at the memory of Zevran sitting at her feet, his long lean body gracefully sprawled on the forest floor, more relaxed than she had ever seen him in the company of others. The young women of the Clan had openly shown her interest in the handsome stranger, watching Cat with barely concealed hostility whenever he touched her or looked at her. She frowned. They probably resented him wasting his precious Elven seed on a _shemlen_ like her.

Although, to give them their due, the Dalish generally weren't given to open displays of affection. Remembering Cammen's embarrassed expression when she'd asked him about kissing Gheyna, she had to suppress a giggle at the thought of Zevran living among the Clan. Imagine him spending his life in a place where only married couples ever got to touch...

No, he didn't belong there. Neither could she imagine him living the sordid life of the City Elves in the Alienage. Like her, he was a misfit, who no longer had a place with his own people. Like her, he needed his freedom. Their home was the open road, away from the rules and traditions of society. She sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker for allowing the two of them to meet. And she knew with crystalline clarity that she couldn't lose him, that the mere thought of something bad happening to him was more than she could bear.

Zevran had been watching the emotions chasing each other on her expressive face for some time. Now he finished cleaning and carefully stowed away soap and oil in his pack, placing the polished leather at just the right distance to the fireplace. He got up and came over to her, joining her on the bench.

"You're deep in thought tonight, carissima," he remarked as he took hold of her bare foot and let his hand run firmly along her instep, then up her calf.

She looked into his eyes, seeing only tenderness and a hint of concern. Moving over into his lap, she pressed her body close to his.

"Oh Zev, I love you so much," she whispered. He kissed her wordlessly, pulling back to look into her eyes, his fingers softly tracing her lips. He had given up chiding her when she talked of love, realising that she was far too stubborn to be dissuaded. Besides, deep down inside they both knew that it was true, that she loved him, needed him like the air she breathed, and that he felt the same way about her. Yet he'd never say the words aloud, driven by a superstitious fear that this would break the spell, drive them apart. It had bothered her for a long time, but tonight she found, much to her surprise, that she no longer cared. She didn't need him to put into words what he was telling her incessantly with his looks, his kisses, his whole body.

Huddling closer to him, she rested her head against his chest, content to just sit there, listening to his heartbeat. Together they watched the sun go down, painting the roofs of Denerim a deep dark red.


	13. More Than Just Skin deep

**Chapter 13: More Than Just Skin-deep**

When they had first set eyes upon the abandoned thaig, they had been awestruck. Even in their ruinous state and despite the decay the old buildings were still breathtakingly beautiful. It seemed strange, Cat thought, that dwarves insisted on building such lofty, high structures. It wasn't as if they needed the headroom. Still, even in her most cynical moments she had to admit that no one could work rock the way they did, or steel for that matter. When they had arrived at Orzammar a week ago, their new gear from Denerim had seemed shabby compared to what the dwarven smiths had to offer. Well, with any luck this expedition into the Deep Roads would yield enough coin to upgrade their equipment.

They had made camp in one of the less dilapidated buildings. One room in particular was still intact, and there was even a small side chamber that would afford Cat and Zevran a measure of privacy. As soon as everything had been arranged to her satisfaction, she'd assembled a small scouting party and had set out with Alistair, Morrigan and Leliana, intending to be back within the hour.

When they still hadn't returned after two hours, Zevran found himself worried. Yet an hour later he finally heard steps outside in the courtyard, but when he rushed out to meet them, his worst fears were confirmed. Alistair was carrying Cat in his arms, her head and upper torso firmly wrapped in an old coat. Her body was motionless, one hand dangling down.

"Quick," said Alistair tersely. "Get Wynne. And get out of here, Zevran, she said she didn't want to see you."

He recoiled in shock. "She said what?"

The knight shrugged and proceeded with her into the small side chamber where Wynne was already waiting, healing spells at the ready.

Zevran tried to follow him in, but as soon as he had put her down, Alistair simply pushed him out of the room and took up sentry at the door. All his protests fell on deaf ears. When Wynne left the room an hour later, looking exhausted, she shook her head at his pleas. "She's better," the old mage muttered, "but she doesn't want you to come in."

Zevran raged in vain until, after hours of pleading and cursing, he finally gave in, pretending to accept the decision. For the next two days he patiently waited for his chance. Alistair and Sten took turns watching the doorway and watching him, but he knew it was just a matter of time before their vigilance waned. In the second night he finally grabbed his chance when the knight had dozed off, and stealthily disappeared around the corner, quickly scaling the walls from the outside. Within seconds he was at her side, looking down at her.

She was running a fever, he could see that right away. And despite Wynne's efforts in the past two days her injuries were still blindingly obvious. A huge red welt ran from her forehead to her neck, crossing one eyebrow. By some miracle her eye had remained intact, but a large part of her right earlobe had been cut off. He gasped at the sight of the wound, realizing how closely she had escaped death.

At the sound she opened her huge, feverish eyes, and when she saw his face, she got agitated. "Zev! I didn't want you to see me like this. I asked them to keep you away!"

He shook his head mutely, for a moment lost for words. "Shh, cara," he gently shushed her, softly stroking the intact side of her face. "Don't worry. I'm here and everything's fine." He saw another flash of anguish cross her face before she passed out again.

"How did you get in here? I told you she didn't want you here!" Alistair's voice was furious.

Zevran turned slowly to the door to see the knight looming over him, Wynne at his side, a disapproving look on her face. He got up, looking them both in the eye without flinching. "I'm not leaving her side again," he stated.

Alistair bristled at this, obviously willing to force the issue, but Wynne gently touched his arm. "Quiet, Alistair, you'll only wake her," she muttered. "Now that he's seen her, he might as well stay."

It took three more days for the fever to break. He was with her all the time, cooling her face with wet cloths, trying to make her drink a little water whenever she was conscious, snatching quick naps on a bedroll next to her. Then he awoke one night to find her looking at him with clear eyes, a single large tear rolling across her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Zev," she whispered. "I must look so disgusting."

He couldn't believe his ears. "And why would you think that, my sweet?" It was hard to keep his voice gentle. "Do you think I've never seen wounds like this before? You will heal, it's just a matter of time."

She shook her head, still fighting back tears. "I heard Wynne tell Alistair that she'd do what she could but that I'd likely be permanently disfigured." Her voice broke at the last two words.

Zevran snorted, his lips forming a thin line as he thought of a few choice things that would _permanently disfigure_ the old bat. "Really? I think that is, as you Fereldans are fond of saying, complete bullshit." When she gaped at him, he pulled up his tunic, revealing a long pale line across his abdomen. "See this, cara? When this was a fresh wound, it looked a lot worse than yours does now."

He sighed in frustration. "Why am I even telling you this? You have had enough wounds and scars yourself, you should know. Besides..." he let his fingers hover over the wound in the ghost of a caress, "if anything, this should look rather dashing once it's healed."

She swallowed. "But my face... Zev, I know how much you value beauty. And I'm filthy, I smell, I look like hell. How can you possibly want me like this?"

For a moment he felt nothing but blind rage at her words. Did she really think him that shallow? But then he saw the expression on her face, the anguish, the fear, and he relented. "Is that what you are afraid of, my love?"

When she nodded, trembling, he got up with a resigned sigh and walked out, returning with a bowl of water and some rags. Without saying a word he began to gently wash her from head to toe. She watched him in wonder, realizing that being clean made her feel a lot better.

When he finished, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her softly. His lips were like silk brushing against her skin. His fingers wandered over her arms and chest, carefully avoiding the bruises. To her surprise she found her battered body responding to his caresses, shivering slightly. As he pulled her closer against his warmth, quickly discarding his clothes so she could feel his skin against hers, she heard his soft voice against her ear. "You really think I don't want you any more? To me you are beautiful no matter how many scars you have". She blushed like an innocent as she felt his hardness against her body, clear evidence of his desire.

He was infinitely careful not to hurt her as he touched her, his lips and hands calling forth reactions she hadn't thought her weakened body capable of. When he finally entered her, his movements were controlled, measured, as if she was as fragile as a porcelain figurine. Yet she nearly cried out, so good it was to feel him inside her, to be with him, safe in his arms. As she reached completion, he pulled her close, his own face mirroring her release, his lips firmly locking with hers. She shuddered, then immediately fell into a deep, relaxed sleep.

When Wynne entered the room in the morning and found them naked, their limbs tangled, huddled under the blanket together, she raised hell.

"How could you?" she hissed at Zevran. "With her still healing, I can't believe you couldn't keep your hands off her!"

He didn't even attempt to answer, just threw her a dark look, but at this moment Cat moved in his arms and looked at the old mage.

Her eyes were clear and her voice sounded surprisingly firm as she spoke. "Leave him be, Wynne. I'm grateful for your skills, but it wasn't just my body that needed healing."

The mage grumbled for a moment, but one look at her patient told her how much better she was. With a snort Wynne left the room.

They had to wait another full week for Cat to recover sufficiently for them to set out again. As they were grabbing their packs, Zevran pulled her aside for a moment.

"Here. It seems an appropriate moment to give you this." He pulled a beautiful jewelled earring from his purse and slowly, gently attached it to her left ear.

She swallowed. "Zev, does this mean...?"

He raised a warning finger to his lips, clearly not wishing to discuss the meaning of the gesture, and she broke off. But as they continued along the huge marble slabs of the old dwarven road, she found herself touching the earring with a small smile.


	14. You're Mine

**Chapter 14: You're Mine**

It took them almost two weeks to get back to the surface. Two weeks of endless trudging through the darkness, two weeks of fighting off spiders and darkspawn and deepstalkers. When they finally reached Aeducan Thaig and their old campsite, everyone's nerves were frazzled, except Oghren's maybe, but then he was rarely sober enough to tell. Alistair and Leliana had quarrelled violently over a week ago, and were no longer on speaking terms. Cat didn't know what had happened and she didn't care. She was far too worried about Zevran.

Being down here was harder on him than on all the others. He was Elven after all, and the weight of the rock seemed to press down on him, suffocating him, making him tense and moody. But it was more than that. Ever since he'd given her the earring he had seemed irritable, fighting some inner demon, struggling with his own feelings.

When she had given the order to destroy the Anvil, he had disagreed and they had argued as they never had before. He'd never questioned her authority before, and it had shaken her to the core to lose his support in this. He hadn't shared her bedroll since then, had hardly talked to her, and she missed him desperately. His warmth, his tenderness, his humour. Whenever she looked at his shuttered, withdrawn face, she ached inside, with a dull hollow feeling.

That night she took first watch, with Fluffy by her side. As she sat there staring into the darkness, she heard steps behind her and turned around, hoping to see Zevran. But to her surprise it was Alistair who walked towards her. He sat down next to her, gave her one of his crooked smiles and shared her silence for a while. It was good to have him here, she realised. He was a Warden like her and he understood better than any of the others what she'd been through in the past weeks.

With a deep sigh he turned to her. "What a nightmare!" he muttered, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer.

She didn't have to ask what he was referring to. She still saw the gruesome vision of the Broodmother before her whenever she closed her eyes, and even now she shuddered at the thought.

"Shhh," he whispered, rocking her gently, and she was glad for his support.

"It sucks to be a Warden," she moaned against his shoulder and he chuckled.

"They never told us about _that_, didn't they?" he remarked wryly. "But then they never told us about so many things."

When she looked up into his eyes, surprised at the changed tone of his voice, his hand moved up to her cheek and her eyes widened as she became aware of what was happening. Hypnotized by his intense gaze, she made no move to stop him as he pulled her against his broad chest and his lips touched hers, tentatively brushing against them for a brief moment. Then she felt his tongue parting her lips, and he kissed her, deeply and with an assurance she hadn't expected. This wasn't the old innocent, clumsy Alistair, she realised with a shock. He knew exactly what he wanted and he wasn't shy about it either. Before she knew it she was kissing him back, lost in the feel of his hot mouth, his hands caressing her back, his muscular arms around her. Maker, he was strong and warm and his skin was soft and silky... She felt her affection-starved body respond with an urgency that made her shiver.

Zevran was watching from the shadows. He had followed her when she went out. Ever since she had taken that horrible wound, he'd been worried sick about her, not wishing to let her out of his sight. When Alistair had approached, every warning sense in his body had begun to tingle, though, and as he saw the knight pull her into an embrace, saw her body relax against his, he felt a wave of red-hot fury nearly obliterating his sight.

It lasted only a moment, though. An ice-cold determination took hold of him, a deadly concentration, the familiar focus on the kill. Without a conscious thought he moved closer, his daggers in hand. His brain automatically calculated the necessary moves, the feint with the right, Alistair's foreseeable reaction, the quick slice of his throat with the left. As the excitement washed over him, the thrill of the chase he'd missed for so long, he quietly closed in.

When Alistair pulled back for breath, Cat felt his beard stubbles brush softly against her cheeks and that brief contact made her immediately aware of what she was doing. Without a moment's hesitation she pushed him back, raised her right hand and, before he could guess her intention, slapped him hard in the face.

Ignoring the hurt look in his eyes she hissed at him. "Alistair, no! What in the Maker's name do you think you're doing?"

He blanched, but his eyes retained their pleading look. "Cat, please. I need you. I can't marry Anora, she'll be the death of me. If I am to be king, come with me. Be my queen, they'll accept you."

She looked at him incredulously for a moment, then her face softened and she gently stroked his cheek. "No, Alistair, I can't do that. Not even for you. Ferelden is full of pretty young girls who'll make you happier than I ever could. I'm no queen. I belong to him."

Alistair looked at her, his expression resigned. "Even though he's been treating you like dirt lately?"

She closed her eyes. "Yes," she said quietly.

Zevran had frozen in motion when she had lashed out at Alistair. Listening to their words, he felt a sudden rush of anger at himself. It was true, he had made her miserable, and he had nearly pushed her into another's arms by his behaviour. He cursed his own foolishness as he turned around and went back to the camp. He could hear Alistair's footsteps only moments later. The knight sighed, pulled his bedroll into a quiet corner and settled down for the night.

When Cat came back from her watch and took off her armour, a weary look on her face, he was waiting for her, naked inside the bedroll. Without a word he pulled her into a deep, ardent embrace, kissing her hungrily. He heard her gasp of surprise, turning into a soft happy sigh as she returned his kiss with the same fervour.

"Zev, I've missed you, I've missed you so much, I thought I'd lost you," she moaned as he showered her face with kisses.

"Cara, I'll never let you go, you're mine," he whispered, his hands already busy pulling off her shift, freeing her breasts to his touch. She arched up high into his hands as he let them wander over her body, desperate for his caress. He needed to feel her, to touch her everywhere, and they both huddled against each other, driven by a longing to be _close_.

When he slid inside her she pulled up her legs as far as she could, moving her hands to his lower back to push him deeper. He gasped as he felt her legs twist around his, holding him as tight as she could, pulling him further into her heat. It hardly left him room to move, but he didn't care, losing himself in her body enveloping his, so warm, so tight, so utterly perfect.

Finally he pulled back a little and began to thrust inside her, gently at first, but then he could feel her nails dig deeply into his back as she begged, her voice low and hoarse with desire. "Zev, please, harder, deeper, more!" He lost control then, pounding inside her, taking possession of her again and again and again, and as they both felt their lust reach its peak, they clung to each other so tight that their bodies seemed to melt into each other.

"Zevran, I'm yours. Always yours," she breathed against his ear, when she could speak again.

"And I am yours," he replied, and the intense passion in his voice made her tremble deep inside.


	15. Pleasures Past and Present

**Chapter 15: Pleasures Past and Present**

The Crows had taken them by surprise, when they were on their way back to the inn that night, their minds taken up with the preparations for the impending Landsmeet. As they were crossing one of Denerim's numerous dark alleys, they found themselves suddenly surrounded by archers. Quickly they took up their fighting positions, the mages safely at the back, the warriors preparing to take a swing against the frontline of the attackers, Fluffy straining against his collar, raring to take down their opponents and shred them to pieces.

Then a tall, dark man strode to the front, his hand raised in what was both a greeting and a warning.

"Taliesin!" Cat heard Zevran hiss beside her. The two men looked at each other with a wary distrust. She watched Zevran's body grow tense as the other assassin glibly suggested a cover-up story for his prolonged absence and promised him a return to his position with the Crows - provided they kill her first, of course.

Zevran looked at her for a moment. There was no trace of doubt in her expression, only a firm assurance that he belonged with her. He smiled at his former partner.

"I can't, old friend," he answered softly. "I swore an oath, but even if I hadn't, other things bind me to her as well." He turned to look at Cat, ignoring Taliesin's derisive snort, his muttered insults. "I'm sorry, my love. I can't... I won't fight him. We were friends once, and more."

As he disappeared into the darkness, both sides took up arms, knowing that there was only one way this could end. It was a grim, dogged battle, but ultimately their swords and Morrigan's spells won over the assassin's skill and speed. He didn't flinch when Alistair's blade came rushing towards him, neatly taking off his head in a single blow.

When she returned to their inn later that night, Zevran was lying stretched out on the bed in their room, a faraway look on his face. She sighed and began to peel off her armour, not wishing to meet his eyes.

"He's dead. I'm sorry, Zevran, but there was no way we could spare his life." When she looked up, the expression on his face made her glad that she hadn't been the one to strike the killing blow. She threw off her remaining clothes and joined him in bed, nestling up close to him under the blanket, trying to read his face.

"He was your lover too?" she asked softly.

Zevran sighed wistfully. "Lover, brother, friend, partner... we used to be inseparable. But he was a Crow through and through. He would never have understood my decision to leave. When they made us kill Rinna, he didn't hesitate for a moment, just laughed at her and slit her throat." She heard the tiny catch in his voice and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

He turned to look at her and shook off the memories as if he was chasing away a fly. "Don't fret, cara, it's over, and he's gone. Dwelling on the past never did anyone any good." Cat let her hands run through his long blond hair, carefully untangling a few strands that had got messed up. She marvelled at his ability to live in the now, his refusal to let past pain intrude on their life together.

He turned over to look her in the eyes, his finger lightly tracing the thin white scar that ran across her eyebrow, giving her a rakish look. "Does it bother you then, that I have had male lovers?"

She shook her head. "Not really, no. I've always known anyway. Meeting Taliesin just brought it home for me, made it real and concrete in a way it wasn't before."

Zevran nodded slowly. "And how does that make you feel?" he asked.

She smiled a little crookedly, as she considered his question. "If anything the thought of the two of you together is... exciting. He is... he was very handsome, you know."

He closed his eyes for a moment at the memory of hot nights in Antiva, of Taliesin's strong, muscular body, the passion he had felt in the other man's embrace, when they returned from their assignments, flushed from the excitement of the kill. "That he was, and he had other talents as well. Still, it's good to know that you don't mind."

She snuggled up closer to him. "I just wonder..." she mused.

"What is it?" he replied, amused by her curiosity.

"Which do you really prefer, men or women?" she asked.

Zevran sighed. "I couldn't answer that, truly. It really depends on the person, be they man or woman. The beauty of it, to me, is that there's never been any need to decide. Both experiences can be hugely pleasurable, if done well, so why would one limit oneself to just one?"

Cat chewed her lower lip. "Well, but let's just assume for a moment that you had to choose," she persisted.

Zevran pulled her close into his arms. "Ahhh, if a cruel fate would force me to do so, I think I would have to choose... women." _Not that it matters any more, since I've already chosen you._

He didn't voice the thought aloud, though, but proceeded to breathe soft little kisses down her neck and she gasped at the little shocks of pleasure she felt. "You see, there is just something about the soft curves of a woman..." He buried his face between her breasts for a moment, before looking up at her with a wicked smile. Watching her face, he gently pushed her breasts together, then he slowly, teasingly licked a soft path over both her nipples.

As she felt his tongue swirl around the hard tips, his lips nuzzle her white skin, she fought for breath. "So, it's all about the breasts, is it?" she managed to ask.

Zevran grinned like a cat. "No, not at all, carissima." She felt his expert fingers slowly stroke her belly. "You see, women, in my experience, have a superior capacity for enjoying sensual pleasures."

"They do?" she breathed as his hands softly spread her thighs, his fingers dancing over her warm, moist folds, teasingly entering her for a second, then withdrawing.

"Oh yes, they do. Most of them don't realize it, though." His thumb unerringly found her most sensitive spot. With just a few well-placed touches he had her violently bucking against his hand. She moaned, disappointed that it was over so fast. But to her surprise his hand never stopped moving.

"Let me show you," he whispered and softly, carefully kept on caressing her with the lightest of touches until she felt her body respond again, with increased urgency. This time the sharp, sudden climax nearly took her breath away, but still he wouldn't desist.

When she gave a small moan of pain at the intensity of the sensation, he pulled away his hand and slowly slid down between her legs, placing a long, lingering kiss on her hot wet core. The soft, insistent strokes of his tongue quickly made her whimper, almost sob in ecstasy as he brought her to another peak. She shuddered in his arms, overwhelmed by what he made her feel, completely taken by surprise by the reaction of her own body.

She would have been perfectly satisfied to cuddle up with him at this point, to relax against his warm, lean body. Yet he went on mercilessly, teasing, tasting, torturing her with his skilled mouth. With each release he made her climb new heights until her whole body tingled with pleasure, every nerve ending stimulated to the point of pain.

Only then did he thrust inside her, his hardness filling her, adding a new sensation, a rippling hot surge of pleasure that spread outward from her crotch to her toes and fingertips, consuming all thought along the way. When she finally arched up against him with a hoarse cry, the world went blindingly white, then black for a second and she was glad of his firm hold that anchored her to reality.

As she returned to consciousness, she looked up into his smiling face. "See, my love?" he breathed softly. "You really had no idea, no?"


	16. A Dish Served Cold

_A/N: Originally published separately as "A Dish Served Cold", but I really wanted it to be part of the larger story._**  
><strong>

**Chapter 16: A Dish Served Cold**

Zevran looked at Cat's pale drawn face. They were getting close now. If the servants hadn't lied - and why should they? - Arl Rendon Howe should be in one of the rooms at the end of the hallway.  
>Howe. The man who'd murdered her family, taken away everything from her, turned her into a homeless, friendless outlaw, so that she had had no choice but to become a Grey Warden. Ultimately the reason why he and Cat had met at all. Zevran winced at the irony. That had to be about the only positive thing that had ever come of that monster's misdeeds.<p>

When Anora's maid had asked them to break into Howe's estate in order to free her mistress, they had initially suspected a trap. But there was simply no way Cat could let that chance go, even if it was a slim one. The chance for revenge, finally. After all those long months, the chance to face Howe, to lay the past to rest. Of course she would go.

At first it had almost been fun. Dressing up in the Howe uniforms, sneaking in through the side entrance - that had been thrilling, and he had even seen a brief smile play around her lips while she was serving drugged ale to the unsuspecting guards, playing the part of the serving wench with undeniable panache and conviction. The fighting had not been a problem either. With a little help from Morrigan's spells and Oghren's axe the two of them had made short work of the remaining guards.

But the dungeons... even Zevran shuddered at the memory. He had seen plenty of torture during his time with the Crows. The assassins included it as part of their training, and he still awoke at night sometimes, bathed in sweat, his muscles tense to the point of soreness, the memory of the agony burning on his skin, when he had relived a particularly bad episode in his dreams. He'd even taken part in torturing others occasionally, though it gave him no pleasure. But he had come to regard it as a necessity, one to be avoided if possible, to be sure, but a necessity nevertheless if important information needed to be gained.

What they'd seen down there, though, was a different story. One after the other they had freed the prisoners from their cells.

Riordan, a Grey Warden. Locked up down here when there was a Blight going on.

Rexel, the veteran - they'd been keeping an eye out for him for months, only to find him so broken that killing him had been the only merciful course of action.

Oswyn, the young nobleman. Zevran had seen Cat's face when they found him after following his cries of pain to the torture chamber, realized she must have known the boy in her former life. He had been a young warrior in the prime of his life before they got to him. Now he would never fight again.

And Irminric, the Templar, who'd gone half mad without his daily dose of lyrium.

Every one of them had been down there so long they'd given up all hope of ever seeing the light of day again. And every one of them had reported the same. Howe hadn't just taken them prisoner for political reasons. No, the man had actually been _enjoying_ himself by making them suffer.

But the worst part for Zevran had been Soris' account of his capture. When they had found the young elf, he hadn't looked too bad, considering the amount of time he'd spent there. The story he told, however... Zevran had felt numb inside when Soris described how the sadistic Bann Vaughan had kidnapped and raped his bride and her friends. On their wedding day, no less. Oh, he knew well enough how those young human lords treated Elven women. While he'd been relatively privileged during his time with the Crows, his upbringing in the whorehouse had left him in little doubt as to the value most humans placed on Elven lives. A sudden flash of pain had crossed his features when he remembered...

* * *

><p><em>Leana had been the youngest of the whores, only just turned sixteen, and when she'd come across the little six-year-old boy playing in the courtyard, she'd been only too happy to join him in his games. Zevran had adored her. She'd been funny and kind and pretty and she'd always had something for him: a sweet treat begged from the cook, a toy bought from a wandering merchant, or just a kiss and a hug when he was crying, lonely and lost at night. He used to hide outside her door when she was with a customer, sneaking in afterwards to cuddle with her, make her smile again... Until the day when the young lord and his friends had requested her as their toy for his stag party. Her screams could be heard all through the house. When the door opened again, the noble brat had casually tossed them a purse of gold. "I'm afraid we've broken her," he'd snarled, "but this should be more than enough to pay for the damage." Zev had watched from his hiding place as they carried her body out. He hadn't cried. He'd never cried any more after that night.<em>

* * *

><p>Soris had run off to the Alienage, and Zevran had taken Cat's hand for a second, squeezing it briefly in thanks. She'd looked at him then, noting his expression, but she hadn't said a word. When they had found Vaughan though, he'd seen her features harden. Morrigan had actually suggested letting him live in exchange for his support at the Landsmeet, but she had remembered. She'd just shaken her head, reaching for the daggers on her belt, when he'd intercepted her move.<p>

"No, cara, leave this to me." It had been quick, his dagger pushed in under the man's ribcage in one quick stroke, far too good a death for this bastard. But it had felt good. She had seen him smile and her eyes had met his without flinching.

And now, Howe. He threw her a quick glance. "I'm ready, Zev," she whispered. "As ready as I can ever be." And they entered the room together.

Cat could hardly breathe when she heard _that_ voice.

"Well, well. Bryce Cousland's little spitfire. All grown up and still playing the man." He looked the same as he always had, back then, when he was sitting at the table with her father, drinking their wine, laughing jovially, complimenting her mother on her evening dress. _Her mother_. Her mother who had died horribly at the hands of his men. For a moment she couldn't see clearly, blinded by rage and pain. She could feel the hate burning inside her stomach, eating at her, making her want to scream, to claw at him with her teeth and nails, to tear him apart.

Then she felt Zevran's hand on her arm, just for a split second, but it took her back to the present. This was her opportunity for revenge, but it was also so much more. It wasn't just about her and her family. She hardly heard his taunts, found them easy to ignore. Instead she focussed on what she'd seen in the dungeons, the pain, the suffering, all those lives broken forever by his actions.

"You are a pathetic excuse for a human being, Howe," she heard herself say. "I'm done talking."

He was a worthy opponent at least. No begging for his life, no trying to run away. When he finally lay at her feet, defeated, she realized with a shiver that there was no regret in his face, no guilt, no shame. With a swift move, she cut his throat. Zevran, who was looking at her face intently, saw the savage joy crossing her features as Howe died with a gurgle, a last curse dying on his bloody lips. She closed her eyes for a moment, her fists clenched, her body taut with tension. When she opened them again, she seemed to have grown before his eyes, her expression harder and more focussed than he'd ever seen her.

"Let's get out of here," he heard her say. "This place is making me sick."

It wasn't that easy, of course. But when Cauthrien and her men attacked them on the way out, Cat fought with a clear hard determination that made her almost unstoppable. Still, if it hadn't been for Morrigan who took out both the mage and half of the archers with her spells, they might well have ended up captured or dead.

* * *

><p>When they returned to Arl Eamon's estate, Cat took Anora to the Arl's study, then excused herself and went back to her room, locking the door behind her. With a deep sigh she let her head fall back against the rough wooden boards. She felt bone-tired, empty inside, yet above all relieved.<p>

"So, cara, is it true what the Chantry says? Would it have been better to forgive him?" She jumped at the sound of Zevran's voice.

"Zev, please, I need to be alone." He got up from her bed where he'd been waiting for her and walked over to her, taking her by the shoulders, his grip firm.

"No, you don't, my love." His eyes caught her gaze, refusing to let her look away. "You need me."

She shook her head, but she knew he was right, and she let him pull her closer, holding her, his lips brushing gently over her temples. He waited, his hand moving in slow circles on her back, until she relaxed against him, exhaling from the depth of her lungs.

"Maybe someone else could have forgiven him," she sighed. "Maybe killing him makes me little better than him. But Maker, it felt good to kill that bastard."

Zevran laughed softly, feeling closer to her than ever. With nimble fingers he began to unbuckle her armour, his fingers caressing her bare skin.

"I'm sure the world is a better place without him," he agreed as he planted kisses along her neck, making her shiver with anticipation. "Some people just need assassinating."


	17. A Night to Remember

**Chapter 17: A Night to Remember**

Zevran was shivering in the draughty corridor of Denerim's Royal Palace. He could hear her raised voice from inside the audience chamber, where she was arguing with Alistair. _King_ Alistair now. He smirked. _That_ would take some getting used to. Though he had to admit the Chantry Boy had changed in more ways than one. He had easily defeated Loghain in the duel and had then ordered the other man's execution without so much as flinching. The Hero of the River Dane was dead now, his daughter arrested for treason. Apparently, though, that new-found kingly self-confidence meant that Alistair was a whole lot less amenable to Cat's suggestions as well.

The door opened and she appeared in the doorframe, angrily shouting back at her fellow Warden. "Damn it, Alistair, this isn't just about you! If you're going to be King, then you can't follow your own inclinations all the time!"

And then he heard Alistair's quiet voice. "I can't do that, Cat. Not even for you." He saw her grow pale as she heard her own words come back to haunt her. Then she bowed her head and he could see that the fight had gone out of her.

"Please consider it Alistair," she said softly. "You know where to find her if you change your mind."

Zevran fell into step beside her as she headed off toward their quarters. "What is it, love?" he asked quietly, but she shook her head.

"I don't want to talk about it, Zev. Maker, but that man is stubborn!"

When they reached the huge chamber that had been assigned to her, he was relieved to see a fire burning in the fireplace and a sumptuous dinner spread on the table. Finally some warmth, and some time to relax.

After dinner they settled on the huge four-poster with a glass of dark red wine. She leaned back against his chest and sighed. "The Archdemon is close, Zev, I can feel him. Tomorrow we'll do battle."

He gently nuzzled her neck. "And why should this worry you? We've battled dragons before, have we not? From what I understand, the Archdemon is essentially a huge dragon. No one knows better than you how to deal with those." Her gaze followed his to the armour stand where her beautiful drakeskin armour was waiting. Wade's masterpiece, perfectly fitted, almost completely fireproof.

She sighed, put the glass away and looked up at him. "Zev, I need you tonight, I need you more than ever."

Her eyes were almost feverish, and he tried to laugh the tension off. "You have me, don't you think?" He began to shower her with small kisses, ready to comfort her the best way he knew, but she shook her head and pushed him back against the pillow, a serious look on her face.

"Tonight it's about what you want, love," she muttered, "what you dream about."

He looked at her in surprise. "Cara mia, there's nothing I've been missing in our love-making. There are no secret dreams, no dark desires I never told you about." And it was true. She had always been more than eager to comply with his wishes and suggestions, and he knew he just had to ask if any particular fancy crossed his mind.

Cat sighed. "Please, Zev, let me make this special for you." He raised an eyebrow, but let her proceed when she began to take off his clothes, one by one, planting soft little kisses on his golden skin. As she traced the swirling tattoo on his chest with her fingers, he groaned softly, catching her hand to place a burning kiss on her palm, but she quickly freed herself and continued caressing him all over. Her fingers and mouth left a hot trail over his body and he gave himself up willingly to her, enjoying every second.

When her mouth finally wandered down and she took his throbbing erection gently between her lips, he hissed sharply in pleasure. She smiled briefly, but then went on, alternately sucking, licking, twirling her tongue around his tip. He watched her, entranced by her beauty and by the sheer wantonness with which she pleasured him. With every moment he felt his lust building up, rising higher and higher until he knew he was getting too close to let her proceed any longer.

But as he pulled her up into his arms, throwing off her shirt, his hands on her breasts, impatient to make her join him in ecstasy, he heard her whisper "Zev... you don't have to... tonight I want you to enjoy..."

He shook his head in disbelief, his voice rough, almost angry as he grabbed her chin, pulling her mouth close to his, whispering against her lips. "And do you honestly think there's anything I enjoy more than hearing you moan in pleasure?" The fingers of his other hand buried themselves in her soft wet curls, eliciting a soft gasp from her. "Than making you tremble in my arms?" He pushed his fingers deep inside her, and she arched up against him, unable to hold back. "Than holding you and watching your face as you cry my name?"

She gave in then, delivering herself completely to his touch. "Zevran! Please!"

He kissed her long and hard, pulling her down upon him until he rested deep inside her, looking into her eyes and letting her see the passion and desire burning in his gaze, fuelled by her response. His hands were back on her breasts, stroking, caressing, then wandering deeper, touching her assuredly, making her burn. With a sudden flip he turned her over, still buried deep in her heat and began to move, slowly and cautiously, then faster, his gaze firmly locked on her face. As he watched her enraptured expression, her growing helplessness, her utter and total abandonment, he felt his own pleasure mount, his whole body suffused by fire, burning for her, so hot, so sweet. He wanted this to last forever, wanted her to become a part of him, never, ever to let go of her again. When she finally came in his arms, her eyes rolling backwards, her lips parted in a long soft sob, he knew that it would never be better, never more perfect. "So beautiful," he breathed, finally allowing himself his release, shuddering as he sank down into her soft warm flesh.

Afterwards he pulled her close, his hand gently smoothing her tousled hair, his lips against her temples. "What was that about, cara?" he asked softly.

She huddled against him, hiding her face. "Just a whim."

He frowned, then he lightly kissed her forehead. "Every night with you is special, my beautiful," he whispered.

_Yes, but this one needs to be unforgettable_, she thought as a single large tear rolled softly down her cheek.


	18. A New Life

**Final Chapter: A New Life**

Neither of them could believe it at first, when suddenly everything was over. The Blight was ended, the Archdemon was slain. Cat returned from the final battle with a huge triumphant smile on her face, pulling Zevran into a long passionate kiss. "Now let us get out of here," she whispered against his lips, her voice full of promise.

"Wait a moment," they heard Wynne say. "You need healing." Zevran watched the soft blue waves of magic wash over her bruised limbs, then he heard the mage gasp in surprise.

"What is it, Wynne?" Cat asked.

"The taint... but that's impossible..." Wynne muttered. "I could always feel it, when I was healing you, but now it's... gone."

Cat looked at the mage, her eyes huge with delighted surprise. "You mean, now the Archdemon is gone, I'm no longer a Warden? I'm free?" The old mage nodded, too amazed to speak.

Zevran didn't need to hear more. He took her hand and off they went, without even the briefest of backward glances. When night fell they had already left Denerim far behind them. No need to stay for the celebrations. Let Alistair claim the glory of saving Ferelden. They were free, they could go as they pleased. Zevran had never seen Cat so happy, so carefree, so untroubled. And by some miracle the healing that had liberated her of the taint seemed to have lifted the shadows of the past from him as well.

They spent the night at a small roadside inn, talking, making plans, nestling against each other on the bed. Her eyes were full of hope and joy as she spoke of what they could do together, where they would go. And when dawn was approaching he took her into his arms and they made love, softly and sweetly, and it was better than ever before, even though they dispensed with all games and tricks. When she cried with pleasure in his arms, he buried his face in her hair and kissed her over and over. "I love you so much, my Catalina, I love you, love you, love you."

* * *

><p>It was at this point that the dream would shatter into pieces, every night. He'd wake up and he'd kick out the nameless stranger who had shared his bed, and as soon as he was alone, the memories of that final battle and its aftermath would come flooding back, leaving him stranded in the black depths of desperation again.<p>

Once more he would see Alistair walk toward him, his face a mask of guilt and pain, carrying her shattered, broken body, placing her gently into his arms. And once more he'd kiss those cold lifeless lips, again and again, whispering the words he'd never managed to say aloud while she was alive. When they'd finally made him let go of her, he had taken out his dagger, cut off a single strand of her hair, and disappeared into the night. Oh, they had looked for him for a while, but he was Zevran Arainai, the undisputed master of stealth and secrecy, and if he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be found. They'd given Cat a hero's funeral with all the trappings and honorifics. _The Slayer of the Archdemon, the Saviour of Ferelden_. By that time he'd already been far away. She wouldn't have cared anyway. She'd never wanted to be a hero. She had wanted to live, to love, to be free.

For some time he drifted all over Ferelden and beyond, never staying in one place, alone, unattached. The pain was his only companion, a constant dull ache that remained, no matter where he went or what he did, as if a part of his body had been cut off. He tried his hand at a few jobs and managed to pull them off, but he keenly felt her absence, like a hole in the air next to him, while he scaled rooftops, avoided traps, silently took out his opponents.

The nights were the hardest part. Zevran had never been a drinker, so he didn't attempt to drown his sorrows. Instead he lost himself in a frenzied succession of bed partners, pretty young men and women, their names and faces a blur. He would seduce them with practised ease, bed them, forget them. His body performed as it always had, but he was numb inside, not sure whether he would ever feel anything again.

The Crows caught up with him three months later. They knew that he no longer had the protection of the Warden, and he had grown careless. When he returned to his inn that night, alone for once, the arrow missed him by a hair's breadth. For a split second he was looking at the shaft, quivering in the wall next to his head, and he almost gave in to the overwhelming temptation to let them go on, let them kill him, finally end the pain. But then his reflexes took over.

Without a conscious thought he whirled around, blades at the ready, taking in the situation with a single practised glance, throwing himself into the graceful, lethal dance he knew so well. When he paused for breath minutes later, all five attackers lay dead on the floor. A quick search of their pockets told him they were Ignacio's men. Two nights later Zevran paid him a visit, making sure that the other assassin would never bother him again.

Oddly enough the incident brought him a measure of peace. It had shown him that he preferred life, even the pain-filled, tortured existence he was leading now, to dying. He wasn't done yet. When a handsome young Elven mage caught his eye at a tavern some weeks later, he walked over to greet the stranger, curious for the first time in weeks. Later that night as he disentangled himself from sweat-soaked sheets and silently snuck out of the other man's room, he was sure he would live. Not love again, not that, never, but there might still be _something_ out there for him. And as time went by, the pain lessened somewhat, and the memories of her became a treasure he hid away deep inside, to be taken out and examined only in the rarest and most precious of instances.

* * *

><p>Zevran had known for some time that Nuncio was on his trail. He had hidden in a cave on the slopes of Sundermount, north of Kirkwall, when the band of adventurers arrived to look for him. There were four of them, an Elven mage, a dwarf, a female knight, and their leader, a woman in fighter's gear. When they approached and he heard one of her companions cry out "Careful, Cait!" his heart beat faster for a second. A vivid series of remembered images raced across his brain as he took in the leader's appearance. Red hair, green eyes, a graceful body... but then he realized that the similarities ended right there. The woman called Cait was taller than <em>she<em> had been, and more muscular, with swirling dark red tattoos on her cheekbones, a seasoned warrior whose strong arms easily wielded the massive two-handed sword she was carrying.

She seemed confident and self-assured when she spoke, her voice clear and strong. "You must be the Antivan. They call me Hawke."

When he left the cave early next morning, Zevran was surprised to find that he was smiling a fond smile. She was indeed a formidable fighter. Nuncio's thugs hadn't stood a chance against their combined skills once he had persuaded her to take his side. And the night that followed the fighting had been just as memorable. As he made his way down the slopes of the mountain, Zevran found himself intrigued when he thought about the future. He was pretty certain that he would meet her again sooner or later and he wondered what would come of it. Her heart belonged to someone else, she had said.

But then, so did his.

*** The end ***

_Author's note: Now, don't be mad at me. I love those two, but I really don't see how a Warden can ever have a happy ending without seriously stretching the laws of plausibility. Darkspawn taint is no small thing.  
>I promise I'll write more about the two of them, though, set at an earlier time. Watch out for 'Brandy Tasting' and 'The Dance of Love' - and maybe some more to come.<br>And for all you Zevran lovers out there - he is part of the cast in nearly all my Fenris/Hawke stories, with a special guest role in 'The Magic of the Moon Goddess' ;-).  
><em>


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